


And I Will Be A Sword

by inlovewithnight



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-09
Updated: 2006-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	And I Will Be A Sword

I ask nothing from them that I do not give myself.

Their eyes follow me as I move through the hallways. They watch every breath I take when I stand in the CIC. I am all they have left to look to. I am all that remains to follow. Our gods died in the holocaust permitted by their divine indifference, but I am still here. We are still here. I and my people survive, and I will lead them.

I promise them vengeance. The word is silver-sharp. It’s what we have left-- the hope of purchasing the death of our race with the elimination of the other.

If the Cylons are a race. No, they are not; they are an abomination. We created them, they were ours, and it is not right for a possession, a _thing_ , to rebel.

Things. They are only things. The one in the brig is a thing, not a she, and the form it wears is only an illusion. A filthy mask. A desecration of humanity, not a sign that it is shared.

I tell Thorne to retrieve the information from her in any way necessary. When he asks my approval for his strategy, there is a heartbeat where I falter. His plan is an ugly thing, and a part of me says _Not that, there is still a line that cannot be crossed._

But I harden my heart, as I have hardened it every day since the attacks. I am what remains. The cities are fallen and the gods are silent; I endure. Metal endures. Stone. I will be granite and steel, I will be the glacier ice that is older than time.

The crew hesitates when I give the order to extract resources from the civilian ships. I cannot allow it. They wish to preserve what no longer exists. Even with the civilians, there are not enough souls to preserve our kind. Those who cannot serve our purpose die now, or they die without leaving their names behind. Perhaps this is even a mercy.

Perhaps it is not, but it doesn’t matter. Some of my crew have misplaced their dedication to our purpose. I remind them. We are not what we were. That is dust and ashes and a radiation signature poisoning space. Now we are only seekers of vengeance. We are soldiers, and yes, our graves will be cold, and yes, we will be glad to meet them.  



End file.
